"How is it that you should have been the man to arrest me, and arrived so opportunely to aid me?" he asked.
"In a very simple way, my lord: your order of arrest was obtained from the Cardinal Minister by the Dutch Embassy. I was present when M. de Laffemas, a familiar of his Eminence, who is kind to me, left the Palais Cardinal order in hand: I was there, and he chose me. Still, as I was able to decline, I should have done so, had I not seen your name on the paper, and remembered the kindness your family had shown to me and my brother. Taking advantage of the opportunity my profession of exempt offered me, I resolved to repay you what your friends have done for mine, by attempting to save you."
"That does not seem to me very easy, my poor friend."
"More so than you may fancy, my lord: I will leave here one-half our escort, and then only ten will remain with us."
"Hum! That is a very decent number," the Count replied, involuntarily interested.
"They would be too many if there were not among the ten men seven of whom I am certain, which reduces the number of those we have to fear to three. I have been running after you for a long time, my lord," he added, with a laugh, "and all my precautions are taken: through some excuse, easy to be found, we will pass through Toulon, and on arriving there, we will stop for an hour or two at a hostelry I know. You will disguise yourself as a mendicant monk, and leave the inn unnoticed. I will take care to get rid of the guards I am not certain of. You will proceed to the port furnished with papers I will hand you; you will go on board a charming chasse-marée, called theSeamew, which I have freighted on your account, and which is waiting for you. The master will recognise you by a password I will tell you, and you will be at liberty to go whither-soever you please. Is not this plan extremely simple, my lord?" he asked, rubbing his hands joyously, "And have I not foreseen everything?"
"No, my friend," the Count answered with emotion, as he offered him his hand; "there is one more thing you have not foreseen."
"What is that, my lord?" he asked, in surprise.
"That I do not wish to fly," the young man answered, with a melancholy shake of the head.
At this answer, which he was so far from anticipating, the exempt gave a start of surprise, and looked at the Count as if he had not exactly understood him.
The gentleman smiled gently.
"That surprises you, does it not?" he said.
"I confess it, my lord," the other stammered, with embarrassment.
The Count went on:
"Yes," he said, "I can understand your surprise at my refusal to accept your generous proposition. It is not often you find a prisoner to whom liberty is offered, and who insists on remaining a captive. I owe you an explanation of this extraordinary conduct; this explanation I will give you at once, so that you may no longer press me, but leave me to act as I think proper."
"I am only the most humble, of your servants, my lord Count. You doubtless know better than I what your conduct should be under the circumstances, you have therefore no occasion to explain it to me."
"It is precisely because you are an old servant of my family, François Bouillot, and because you are giving me at this moment a proof of unbounded devotion, that I believe myself obliged to tell you the motives for this refusal, which has so many reasons to surprise you. Listen to me, then."
"As you insist, my lord, I obey you."
"Very good, take a chair, and place yourself here by my side, as it is unnecessary for others beside yourself to hear what I am going to say."
The exempt took a stool and seated himself by his master's side, exactly as the latter had ordered, while still keeping up a respectful distance between himself and the gentleman.
"In the first place," the Count resumed, "be thoroughly convinced that if I refuse your offer, it is not through any motive of a personal nature as regards yourself. I have full confidence in you, for nearly 200 years your family has been attached to mine, and we have ever had reason to praise their devotion to our interest. This important point being settled, I will go on. I will suppose for a moment that the plan you have formed is successful, a plan which I will not discuss, although it appears to me very difficult to execute, and the slightest accident might, at the last moment, compromise its issue. What will happen? Forced to fly without resources, without friends, I should not only be unable to take the revenge I meditate upon my enemies, but surrendered, so to speak, to their mercy, I should speedily fall into their hands again, and thus become the laughing stock of those whom I hate. I should be dishonoured; they will despise me, and I shall have but one way of escape from a life henceforth rendered useless, as all my plans would be overthrown, and that is blowing out my brains."
"Oh! my lord!" Bouillot exclaimed, clasping his hands.
"I do not wish to fall," the Count continued imperturbably, "in the terrible struggle which has this day begun between my enemies and myself. I have taken an oath, and that oath I will keep, regardless of the consequences. I am young, hardly twenty-five years of age; up to the present, life has only been one long joy for me, and I have succeeded in everything, plans of ambition, fortune and love. Today misfortune has come to lay its hand on me, and it is welcome; for the man who has not suffered is not a perfect man; grief purifies the mind and tempers the heart. Solitude is a good councillor; it makes a man comprehend the nothingness of small things, expands the ideas, and prepares grand conceptions. I require to steel myself through sorrow, in order to be able one day to repay my enemies a hundredfold all that I have suffered at their hands. It is by thinking over my broken career and my ruined future, that I shall find the necessary strength to accomplish my vengeance. When my heart is dead to every other feeling but that of the hatred which will entirely occupy it, I shall be able pitilessly to trample underfoot all those who today laugh at me and believe they have crushed me, because they have hurled me down; and then I shall be really a man, and woe to those who try to measure their strength with mine. You tremble at what I am saying to you at this moment, my old servant," he added more gently, "what would it be were you able to read in my heart all the hatred, auger, and rage it contains against those who have mercilessly ground me beneath their heel, and who have eternally deprived me of happiness, in order to satisfy the paltry calculations of a narrow and criminal ambition?"
"Oh, my lord Count! Permit an old servant of your family, a man who is entirely devoted to you, to implore you to resign these fearful schemes of vengeance. Alas! You will be the first victim of your hatred."
"Have you forgotten, Bouillot," the Count replied ironically, "what is said in our country, about the members of the family to which I have the honor of belonging?"
"Yes, yes, my lord," he said with a melancholy shake of the head; "I remember it, and will repeat it if you wish."
"Do so."
"Well, my lord, the distich is as follows—"
"'The Counts of Barmont Senectaire, Demon-hate and heart of stone.'"
The Count smiled.
"Well do you fancy that I have degenerated from my ancestors?"
"I suppose nothing, sir, Heaven forbid!" he answered humbly, "I only see with terror that you are preparing a hideous future for yourself."
"Be it so! I accept it in all its rigor, if God will permit me to accomplish my oath."
"Alas! My lord, you know that man proposes; you are at this moment a prisoner of the Cardinal; reflect, I implore you, who knows whether you will ever leave the prison to which I am conducting you? Consent to be free."
"No; cease your entreaties! The Cardinal is not immortal. If not before, my liberty will be restored me on his death, which cannot be long deferred, I hope. And now carefully bear this in mind, my resolution is so fixed, that if in spite of my orders you abandon me here, at the inn where we now are, the first use I should make of the liberty you have given me back, would be to go at once and surrender myself into the hands of his Eminence; you understand me thoroughly, I suppose?"
The old servant bowed his head without answering, and two tears slowly ran down his cheeks.
This dumb grief, so true and so touching, affected the Count more than he would have supposed; he rose, took the poor fellow's hand and shook it several times.
"Let us say no more about this, Bouillot," he remarked to him affectionately, "although I will not profit by it, your devotion has deeply affected me, and I will ever feel eternally grateful to you for it. Come, my old friend, let us not grow foolish; we are men and not childish poltroons, confound it."
"Well, no matter, my lord, I do not consider myself beaten," the exempt replied, as he threw himself into the arms open to receive him; "you cannot prevent me from watching over you, whether near or afar."
"That I do not oppose, my friend," the Count replied with a laugh; "do as you please; besides," he added seriously, "I confess that I shall not be sorry when I am sequestered from the world to know what is going on, and to be kept informed, of passing events; some unforeseen fact might occur which would modify my intentions and make me desire the recovery of my liberty."
"Oh, be sure of that, my lord," he exclaimed, pleased at this quasi victory and conditional promise, "I will arrange so that you shall not be at a loss for news; I have not served his Eminence for six years for nothing; the Cardinal is a good master, I have profited by his teaching, and know several tricks; you shall see me at work."
"Well, that is agreed, and we understand each other now. I think it would be wise to breakfast before continuing our journey, for I feel an appetite that greatly requires appeasing."
"I will give the landlord orders to serve you at once, my lord."
"You will breakfast with me, Bouillot," he said as he gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder; "and I hope it will be always so, until our arrival at the Isle of St. Marguerite."
"It is certainly a great honour for me, sir, but—"
"I expect it; besides are you not almost a member of my family?"
François Bouillot bowed and left the room; after ordering a copious breakfast, he commanded one part of the escort back to Paris; then he returned to the room, followed by the landlord, who, in a second, covered the table with all that was wanted to make a good meal, and withdrew discreetly, leaving his guests to attack the dishes placed before them.
The journey was continued without any incident worthy of note.
The prisoner's conversation with his keeper had been decisive; the latter was too well acquainted with the character of the man with whom he had to deal to attempt to revert to a subject which had been so distinctly disposed of on the first occasion.
At the period when our history takes place, France was not as now intersected by magnificent roads, and the shortest journey demanded an enormous expenditure of time; the coaches, heavy vehicles badly built and worse horsed, had great difficulty in resisting the numerous joltings and the ruts in which they were for the greater portion of the time buried up to the axletree, and hence, in spite of the speed employed, seventeen days elapsed ere the prisoner and his escort arrived at Toulon.
This town was even at that early period one of the principal military ports of France, and the Count felt an indescribable pang at heart when he entered it.
It was in this town that his naval career had begun, here for the first time he had set foot aboard a vessel with the rank of midshipman, and had undergone the preparatory trials of that rude naval profession, in which, in spite of his youth, he soon attained a great reputation and almost celebrity.
The coach stopped in the Haymarket, in front of the "Cross of Malta," probably the oldest inn in France, for it is still in existence, although it has undergone many indispensable changes both internally and externally.
So soon as he had installed his prisoner comfortably in the Inn, François Bouillot went out.
If he placed a sentry before the Count's door, it was rather in obedience to his duty, than through any fear of escape, for he had not even taken the trouble to lock the door, so convinced was he beforehand that unfortunately his prisoner would not attempt to pass out of it.
He remained away for about two hours.
"You have been absent a long time," the Count remarked on his return.
"I had some important business to settle," he replied.
The Count, without adding a word, resumed his walk up and down the room which Bouillot's return had interrupted.
There was a momentary silence, Bouillot was evidently embarrassed, he went about the room, pretending to arrange sundry articles of furniture, and disarranging everything; at last seeing that the Count obstinately remained silent and would not perceive that he was in the room, he placed himself in front of him so as to bar his passage, and looked at him intently as he whispered with a stress on the words.
"You do not ask where I have been."
"What is the use?" the Count replied carelessly; "About your own business, of course."
"No, my lord, about yours."
"Ah!" he said.
"Yes, theSeamewawaits you."
The Count smiled and slightly shrugged his shoulders.
"Ah, ah, you are still thinking of that; I believed, my dear Bouillot, that it was arranged between us that we should not return to this subject. That was the reason, then, that you lengthened our journey, by making us pass through Toulon, at which I felt surprised. I could not account for the strange itinerary you were following."
"My lord," he muttered, clasping his hands imploringly.
"Come, you are mad, my dear Bouillot, you ought to know by this time, though, that when I have formed a resolution, good or bad, I never alter it; so no more of this, I beg, it would be quite useless. I pledge you my word as a gentleman."
The old servant uttered a groan that resembled a death rattle.
"Your will be done, my lord," he stammered. "When do we start for Antibes?"
"At once, if you wish it."
"Very good, the sooner the better."
After bowing, the exempt left the room to make all preparations for departure.
As we see, the parts were completely introverted, it was the prisoner who gave orders to his keeper.
One hour later, in fact, the Count quitted Toulon. All along the road the two men, constantly companions, and eating and drinking together, conversed about indifferent matters. Bouillot had at last recognized the fact that it was useless to make any further effort to induce the Count to escape; still he had not given up his scheme, but merely deferred it till a more distant period, reckoning as an ally the annoyance of a prolonged detention, and an inactive and useless life upon an organization so impetuous as that of the prisoner.
So soon as he arrived at Antibes, by the express command of the Count, who seemed to take a certain pleasure in tormenting him, he set out in search of some boat to carry them across to Sainte Marguerite.
His search was neither long nor difficult; as bearer of a Cardinal's order, he laid an embargo on the first fishing boat he came across, and embarked aboard it with all his people.
On leaving the mainland, the Count turned, and a smile of peculiar meaning played round his lips.
Bouillot, deceived by this smile, whose secret intention he did not penetrate, bent down to the Count's ear.
"If you like, there is still time," he whispered.
The Count looked at him, shrugged his shoulders, and without replying, sat down in the stern of the boat.
"Push off," Bouillot then shouted to the master.
The latter seized his boathook, and they were soon under weigh.
The Lerins islands form a group composed of several rocks, and two islands surrounded by shoals; the first known as Isle Sainte Marguerite, the second as Saint Honorat.
At the period of our narration only the first was fortified; the other, inhabited by a few fishermen, merely contained the still considerable ruins of the monastery founded by Saint Honorat circa the year 400.
The Sainte Marguerite island was uninhabited, flat, and only offering along its entire coast, one very unsafe creek for vessels. Although it is extremely fertile, and pomegranates, orange and fig trees, grow there in the open air, no one had thought of taking up his abode there, and we are not aware whether a change has since taken place.
A very important fortress, which, at a later date, attained a melancholy reputation as a state prison, was erected on the island, the greater portion of which it occupied.
This fort was composed of three towers, connected together by terraces, which time had covered with a yellowish moss, while a wide deep moat surrounded the walls.
A few years prior to the beginning of our story, in 1635, the Spaniards had seized it by surprise.
The Cardinal, in order to prevent the repetition of such a calamity, had judged it advisable to protect the fort from acoup de main, by placing there a garrison of fifty picked soldiers, commanded by a major performing the duties of governor. He was an old officer of fortune, whom this post served as a retreat, and who, far from the cares of the world, led a perfect canonical life, thanks to a tacit understanding with the smugglers, who alone cast anchor in these parts.
The officer who commanded the fort at this moment was an old gentleman, tall, thin, and wizened, with harsh features, who had had a leg and arm cut off. His name was Monsieur de l'Oursière; he was constantly scolding and abusing his subordinates, and the day when he left the Crown regiment, in which he held the rank of major, was kept as a holiday by the whole regiment, officers and men; so cordially was the worthy man detested.
Cardinal de Richelieu was a good judge of men; in selecting Major de l'Oursière to make him governor of Sainte Marguerite, and metamorphose him into a gaoler, he had found the exact post which suited his quarrelsome temper, and his cruel instincts.
It was on this amiable personage that the Count de Barmont would have to be dependant for doubtless a considerable period; for, if the Cardinal Minister easily shut the gate of a state prison on a gentleman, to make up for it, he was never in a hurry to open it again, and a prisoner, unless something extraordinary occurred, was almost safe to die forgotten in his dungeon, except when his Eminence had a whim to have his head cut off in broad daylight.
After a number of countersigns had been exchanged with a profuseness of caution which bore witness to the good guard and strict discipline maintained by the governor, the prisoner and his escort were at length introduced into the fortress, and admitted to the Major's presence.
The Major was just finishing his breakfast, when a Cardinal's messenger was announced to him: he buttoned his uniform, put on his sword and hat, and ordered the messenger to be shown in.
François Bouillot entered, followed by the Count, bowed, and presented the order of which he was the bearer.
The governor took it, and read it through; then he turned to the Count, who was standing motionless a few paces in the rear, made him a slight bow, and addressed him in a dry voice, and with a rough accent.
"Your servant, sir," he said to him: "are you the Count de Barmont, whose name is written on this paper?"
"Yes, sir," the Count answered, bowing in his turn.
"I am sorry, sir, truly sorry," the Major resumed; "but I have strict orders with reference to you, and a soldier only knows his duty; still, believe me, sir, hum, hum, that I shall try to reconcile my natural humanity with the rigour that is recommended to me, hum, hum, I know how gentlemen ought to behave to each other, sir; be assured of that."
And the governor, doubtless satisfied at the speech he had just uttered, smiled, and drew himself gracefully up.
The Count bowed, but made no answer.
"You shall be conducted to your apartment at once, sir," the Major went on; "hum, hum! I wish it was handsomer, but I did not expect you; hum, hum, and you know how things are—hum, hum, we will manage to lodge you more comfortably hereafter; la Berloque," he added, turning to a soldier standing near the door, "conduct this gentleman, hum, hum, to room No. 8, in the second turret; hum, hum, I believe it is the most habitable one; your servant, sir, your servant, hum, hum!"
And after having thus unceremoniously dismissed the Count, the Major went into another room.
M. de Barmont, accompanied by Bouillot and the guards, who had brought him, followed the soldier.
The latter led them through several passages, and up various stairs, and then stopped before a door, garnished with formidable bolts.
"It is here," he said.
The Count then turned to Bouillot, and affectionately offered him his hand.
"Farewell, my old friend," he said to him in a gentle but firm voice, while a vague smile played round his lips.
"Farewell, till we meet again," Bouillot said, with a stress on the words. Then he took leave of him, and withdrew, with his eyes full of tears.
The door closed with a mournful sound on the prisoner.
"Oh!" the old servant muttered, as he pensively went down the turret stairs, "Woe to those who venture to oppose the Count, if ever he leaves his prison again! And he shall do so, I swear it, even if I must risk my life in securing his escape."
The family of the Count de Barmont Senectaire was one of the most ancient and noble in Languedoc; their origin went back to an antiquity so remote, that we may declare without fear of contradiction that it was lost in the mist of ages.
A Barmont Senectaire fought at Bouvines by the side of Philip Augustus.
The chronicle of Joinville mentions a Barmont Senectaire, knight banneret, who died of the plague at Tunis, in 1270, during the second crusade of King Louis IX.
Francis I. on the evening of the battle of Marignano, gave the rank of Count on the battlefield itself to Euguerrand de Barmont Senectaire, captain of one hundred men at arms, to reward him for his grand conduct and the sturdy blows he had seen him deal during the whole period of that combat of giants.
Few noble families have such splendid title deeds among their archives.
The Counts de Barmont were always military nobles, and they gave France several celebrated generals.
But in the course of time, the power and fortune of this family gradually diminished: during the reign of Henri III. it was reduced to a condition bordering on poverty. Still, justly proud of a stainless past, they continued to carry their heads high in the province, and if the Count de Barmont endured hard privations in order to support his name worthily, nothing of this was visible externally, and everybody was ignorant of the fact.
The Count had attached himself to the fortunes of the King of Navarre as much through the hope of regaining a position through the war, as through admiration of this prince, whose genius he had probably divined. A brave soldier, but young, impetuous, and handsome, the Count had several affairs of gallantry. One among others with a lady of the Town of Cahors, affianced to a very rich Spanish noble, whom he succeeded in carrying off on the very day before that appointed for the marriage. The Spaniard, who was very strict in matters affecting his honour, considered this joke in bad taste, and demanded satisfaction of the Count; the latter gave him two sword thrusts, and left him dead on the ground. This affair attracted great attention, and gained the Count much honor among people of refinement; but the Spaniard, contrary to expectation, recovered from his wounds. The two gentlemen fought again, and this time the Count so ill treated his adversary that the latter was constrained to give up all thoughts of a new meeting. This adventure disgusted the Count with gallantry, not that he personally feared the results of the hatred which the Duke of Peñaflor had sworn against him, for he never heard of him again, but because his conscience reproached him with having, for the satisfaction of a caprice which passed away so soon as it was satisfied, destroyed the happiness of an honourable man, and he felt remorse for his conduct in the affair.
After bravely fighting by the side of the King during all his wars, the Count finally retired to his estates, about the year 1610, after the death of that Prince, disgusted with the Court, and feeling the necessity of repose after such an amount of fatigue.
Here, four or five years later, wearied with the solitude in which he lived, and, perhaps, in the hope of expelling from his mind a troublesome recollection, which, in spite of the time that had elapsed, did not cease to torture him, the Count resolved to marry, and selected for his wife a young lady belonging to one of the best families in the province—charming and gentle, but as poor as himself; this circumstance was far from bringing ease into the family, whose position daily became more difficult.
The union, however, was a happy one; in 1616 the Countess was delivered of a son, who at once became the joy of the poor household.
This son was Count Ludovic, whose story we have undertaken to tell.
In spite of his fondness for the boy, the Count, however, brought him up strictly, wishing to make of him a rude, brave, and loyal gentleman, like himself.
Young Ludovic felt at an early hour, on discovering what misery was concealed behind the apparent splendour of his family, the necessity of creating for himself an independent position, which would allow him not only to be no longer a burden to parents whom he loved, and who sacrificed to him the greater portion of their income, but to restore also the eclipsed lustre of the name he bore.
Contrary to the custom followed by his ancestors, who had all served the king or his armies, his tastes led him to the navy.
Owing to the assiduous care of an old and worthy priest, who had become his tutor through attachment to his family, he had received a solid education, by which he had profited; accounts of voyages, which constituted his principal reading, inflamed his imagination; all his thoughts were turned to America, where, according to the statements of sailors, gold abounded, and he had but one desire—to land himself in this mysterious country, and take his part of the rich crop which everybody garnered there.
His father, and his mother even more, for a long time resisted his entreaties. The old man, who had fought during so many years, could not understand why his son should not do the same, or prefer the navy to a commission in the army. The Countess, in her heart, did not wish to see her son either soldier or sailor, for both professions terrified her; she feared for her son the unknown perils of distant excursions, and her tenderness was alarmed by the thought of what might be an eternal separation.
Still, something must be done, and as the young man obstinately adhered to his resolution, his parents were compelled to yield and consent to what he desired, whatever might be the future consequences of this determination.
The Count still had some old friends at Court, among them being the Duke de Bellegarde, who stood on terms of great intimacy with King Louis XIII., surnamed the "Just" during his lifetime, because he was born under the sign of Libra.
Monsieur de Barmont had also been connected at an earlier date with the Duke d'Epernon, created Admiral of France in 1587; but he had a repugnance in applying to him, owing to the rumours that were spread at the time of the assassination of Henri IV. Still, in a case so urgent as the present one, the Count comprehended that for the sake of his son he must silence his private feelings, and at the same time as he addressed a letter to the Duke de Bellegarde, he sent another to Epernon, who at this period was Governor of Guyenne.
The double answer the Count expected was not long deferred; M. de Barmont's two old friends had not forgotten him, and hastened to employ their credit on his behalf.
The Duke d'Epernon especially, better situated through his title of Admiral to be useful to the young man, wrote that he would gladly undertake the duty of pushing him on in the world.
This took place at the beginning of 1631, when Ludovic de Barmont had reached his sixteenth year.
Being very tall, with a proud and haughty air, and endowed with rare vigour and great agility, the young man seemed older than he in reality was. It was with the liveliest joy that he learned how his wishes had been fulfilled, and that nothing prevented him from embracing a maritime career.
The Duke d'Epernon's letter requested the Count de Barmont to send his son as speedily as possible to Bordeaux, so that he might at once place him aboard a man-of-war, to commence his apprenticeship.
Two days after the receipt of this letter the young man tore himself with difficulty from the embraces of his mother, bade his father a respectful farewell, and took the road to Bordeaux, mounted on a good horse, and followed by a confidential valet.
The navy had for a long time been neglected in France; and left during the middle ages in the hands of private persons, as the government, following the example of the other continental powers, did not deign to try and secure a respectable position on the seas, much less a supremacy; thus we see during the reign of Francis I., who was, however, one of the warlike Kings of France, Ango, a ship broker of Dieppe, from whom the Portuguese had taken a vessel during a profound peace, authorized by the King, who was unable to procure him justice, to equip a fleet at his own expense. With this fleet Ango, we may remark incidentally, blockaded the port of Lisbon, and did not cease hostilities until he had forced the Portuguese to send to France ambassadors humbly to ask peace of the King.
The discovery of the New World, however, and the no less important one of the Cape of Good Hope, by giving navigation a greater activity and a more extended sphere, at the same time as they widened the limits of commerce, caused the necessity to be felt of creating a navy, intended to protect merchant vessels against the attacks of corsairs.
It was not till the reign of Louis XIII. that the idea of creating a navy began to be carried into execution. Cardinal de Richelieu, whose vast genius embraced everything, and whom the English fleets had caused several times to tremble during the long and wearying siege of Rochelle, passed several decrees relating to the navy, and founded a school of navigation, intended to educate those young gentlemen who desired to serve the King aboard his vessels.
It is to this great minister, then, that France is indebted for the first thought of a navy; this navy was destined to contend against the Spanish and Dutch fleets, and during the reign of Louis XIV., to acquire so great an importance, and momentarily hold in check the power of England.
It was this school of navigation created by Richelieu that the Viscount de Barmont entered, thanks to the influence of the Duke d'Epernon.
The old gentleman strictly kept the pledge he had given his former comrade in arms; he did not cease to protect the young man, which, however, was an easy task, for the latter displayed an extraordinary aptitude, and a talent very rare at that date in the profession he had embraced.
Hence, in 1641, he was already a captain in the navy, and had the command of a twenty-six gun frigate.
Unfortunately, neither the old Count de Barmont nor his wife was able to enjoy the success of their son or the new era opening for their house; they both died a few days apart from each other, leaving the young man an orphan at the age of two-and-twenty.
As a pious son, Ludovic, who really loved his parents, lamented and regretted them, especially his mother, who had always been so kind and tender to him; but, as he had been accustomed for so many years to live alone during his long voyages, and only to trust to himself, he did not feel the loss so painfully as he would have done had he never left the paternal roof.
Henceforth the sole representative of his house, he regarded life more seriously than he had hitherto done, and redoubled his efforts to restore to his name its almost eclipsed lustre, which, thanks to his exertions, was beginning to shine again with renewed brilliancy.
The Duke d'Epernon still lived, but a forgotten relic of an almost entirely departed generation—a sickly octogenarian, who had quarrelled long ago with Cardinal de Richelieu, his influence was null, and he could do nothing for the man he had so warmly protected a few years previously.
But the Count did not allow this to prey on his mind; the naval service was not envied by the nobility, good officers were rare, and he believed that if he cautiously avoided mixing himself up in any political intrigue, he might have a brilliant career.
An accident, impossible to foresee, was fated to destroy all his ambitious plans, and ruin his career forever.
This is how the affair occurred:—The Count de Barmont, at the time commanding the Erigone, twenty-six gun frigate, after a lengthened cruise in the Algerian waters to protect French merchant vessels against the Barbary pirates, steered for the states of Gibraltar, in order to reach the Atlantic, and return to Brest, whither he had orders to proceed at the end of his cruise; but just as he was about to pass through the Straits, he was caught by a squall, and after extraordinary efforts to continue his course, which almost cast him on to the coast of Africa, owing to the strength of the wind and the rough, chopping sea, he was obliged to stand off and on for several hours, and finally take refuge in the port of Algeciras, which was to windward of him, on the Spanish coast.
So soon as he had anchored, and made all snug, the commandant, who knew from experience that two or three days would elapse ere the wind veered, and allowed him to pass the Straits, ordered his boat, and went ashore.
Although the town of Algeciras is very old, it is very small, badly built, and scantily populated; at this period, more especially, it only formed, as it were, a poor market town. It was not till after the English had seized Gibraltar, situated on the other side of the bay, that the Spaniards comprehended the importance of Algeciras to them, and have converted it into a regular port.
The Captain had no other motive for landing at Algeciras, than the restlessness natural to sailors, which impels them to leave their vessel as soon as they have cast anchor.
Commercial relations were not established at that time, as they now are. The government had not yet fallen into the custom of sending to foreign ports residents ordered to watch over their countrymen, and protect their transactions—in a word, consulates had not yet been created: only those ships of war, which accident might lead to any port, now and then undertook to procure justice for those of their countrymen, whose interests had been encroached on.
After landing, and giving orders to his coxswain to come and fetch him at sunset, the Captain, merely followed by a sailor, of the name of Michael, to whom he was greatly attached, and who accompanied him everywhere, turned into the winding streets of Algeciras, curiously examining everything that offered itself to view.
This Michael, to whom we shall have several occasions to refer, was a tall fellow, with an intelligent face, about thirty years of age, and who had vowed an eternal devotion to his captain since the day when the latter had risked his life in saving his, by jumping into a boat during a terrible storm four years before, to help him when he had fallen into the sea while going up the shrouds to ease the mainsail.
Since that day Michael had never left the Count, and had always contrived to sail with him. Born in the vicinity of Pau, the country of Henri IV., he was like the king, his fellow countryman, gay, mocking, and even sceptical. An excellent sailor, endowed with tried bravery, and far from ordinary vigour, Michael offered in his person the perfect type of the Béarnaise Basque, a strong and rough, though loyal and faithful race.
Only one individual shared in Michael's heart the unbounded friendship he felt for his chief. This privileged being was a Breton sailor, gloomy and taciturn, who formed a complete antithesis to him, and whom, owing to his slowness, the crew had favoured with the characteristic name of Bowline, which he had accepted, and was so accustomed to answer to it, that he had almost forgotten the name he previously bore.
The service the Count had done Michael, the latter had rendered to Bowline: hence he was attached to the Breton through this very service, and while mocking and teasing him from morning till night, he had a sincere friendship for him.
The Breton understood Michael, and so far as his reserved and slightly demonstrative nature permitted, he testified on every occasion his gratitude to the Basque, by letting himself be completely directed and governed by him in all the actions of his life, without ever attempting to revolt against the frequent exorbitant demands of his mentor.
If we have dwelt so long on the character of these two men, it is because they are destined in the course of this work to play an important part; and the reader must be acquainted with them, in order to understand the facts we shall have to record.
The Count and his sailor continued to advance along the streets, the one reflecting and amusing himself the other remaining, through respect, a few paces in the rear, and desperately smoking a pipe, whose stem was so short that the bowl almost touched his lips.
While walking thus straight before them, the promenaders soon reached the end of the town, and turned into a lane bordered by aloes, which led, with a rather steep incline, to the top of a hill, whence could be enjoyed the entire panorama of the bay of Algeciras, which, we may remark in a parenthesis, is the finest in the world.
It was about two in the afternoon, the hottest moment of the day. The sun profusely poured down its torrid beams, which made the pebbles in the road sparkle like diamonds.
Hence everybody had gone within doors to enjoy the siesta, so that, since landing, the two sailors had not met a living creature; and if the Arabian Nights, which were not translated till a century later, had been known at the time, the Count, without any great effort of the imagination, might have believed himself transported to that city where all the inhabitants had been sent to sleep by a wicked impostor, so complete was the silence around him, while the landscape had the aspect of a desert. To complete the illusion, the breeze had fallen, there was not a breath of air, and the vast expanse of water stretched out at their feet was as motionless as if composed of ice.
The Count stopped, pensively gazing with an absent eye at his frigate, which at this distance was scarce as large as a skiff.
Michael smoked more than ever, and admired the country with straddling legs, and his arm behind his back, in that position so liked by sailors.
"Hilloh!" he said suddenly.
"What is the matter with you?" the Count asked him, as he turned round.
"Nothing the matter with me, Captain," he replied, "I am only looking at a lady who is coming up here at a gallop. What a fancy to go at that pace in such a heat as this."
"Where is she?" asked the Count.
"Why, there, Captain," he said, stretching out his hand to larboard.
The Count turned his eyes in the direction which Michael indicated to him.
"Why, that horse has bolted," he exclaimed, a moment later.
"Do you think so, Captain?" the sailor remarked, calmly.
"Zounds! I am certain of it. Look, now that she is nearer to us. The rider is clinging despairingly to the mane. The unhappy girl is lost!"
"Very possibly," Michael said, philosophically.
"Quick, quick, my lad!" the Captain shouted, as he rushed to the side where the horse was coming up. "We must save the lady, even if we perish!"
The sailor made no answer; he merely took the precaution of withdrawing his pipe from his mouth and placing it in his pocket, and then he set out at a run behind his captain.
The horse came on like a whirlwind. It was a barb of the purest Arab race, with a small head, and legs fine as spindles. It bounded furiously with all four legs on the narrow path it was following, with eyes full of flashes, and apparently snorting fire through its dilated nostrils. The lady on its back, half reclining on its neck, had seized its long mane with both hands, and, half insane with terror, as she felt herself lost, she uttered stifled cries at intervals.
Very far in the rear, several horsemen, who formed almost imperceptible dots on the horizon, were coming up at full speed.
The track on which the horse was engaged, was narrow and rocky, and led to a precipice of frightful depth, toward which the animal was dashing with a headlong speed.
A man must either be mad, or endowed with a lion's courage, to try and save this unhappy woman under such conditions, when he had ninety-nine chances in a hundred of being crushed, without succeeding in rescuing her from death.
The two sailors, however, made no reflections of this nature, and without hesitation resolved to make a supreme effort. They stood facing each other on either side of the track, and waited without exchanging a word. They understood one another.
Two or three minutes elapsed, and then the horse passed like a tornado; but with the speed of thought the two men dashed forward, seized it by the bridle, and, hanging their whole weight on it, allowed themselves to be dragged onward by the furious animal.
There was for a moment a terrible struggle between intelligence and brute strength. At length the brute was conquered. The horse stumbled, and fell panting on the ground.
At the moment of its fall, the Count removed in his arms, the lady so miraculously saved, and he bore her to the side of the road, where he respectfully laid her down.
Terror had certainly deprived her of consciousness.
The Count guessing that the horsemen coming up, were relations or friends of her to whom he had just rendered so great a service, repaired the disorder in his clothes and awaited their arrival, while gazing admiringly at the young lady lying at his feet.
She was a charming young creature, scarce seventeen years of age, with a delicate waist, and marked and adorably beautiful features; her long black silky hair had escaped from the comb that confined it and fell in perfumed curls over her face, on which a slight flush presaged a speedy return to life.
The young lady's dress, which was very rich and remarkably elegant, would have led to the supposition that she was of high rank, had not the stamp of aristocracy, spread over her entire person, removed all doubts on that score.
Michael, with his characteristic coolness which nothing ever upset, had remained by the side of the horse which, calmed by the fall and trembling in all its limbs, had allowed itself to be raised without offering the slightest resistance; the Basque after removing the saddle, had plucked a wisp of grass, and began rubbing the horse down, while admiring it, and muttering every now and then.
"I don't care, it's a noble and beautiful animal! It would have been a pity had it rolled over that frightful precipice; I am glad it is saved."
The worthy sailor did not think the least bit in the world of the young lady, for his entire interest was concentrated on the horse.
When he had finished rubbing down, he put the saddle and bridle on again and led the horse up to the Count.
"There," he said with an air of satisfaction, "now the horse is calm; poor creature, a child could guide it with a thread."
In the meanwhile the horsemen rapidly approached, and soon came up to the two French sailors.
These horsemen were four in number. Two of them appeared to be persons of importance, the other two were domestics.
On coming within a few steps of the Count, the first two dismounted, threw their bridles to the footman and advanced, hat in hand, towards the gentleman, whom they saluted with exquisite politeness.
The Count courteously returned their greeting, while taking a side-glance at them.
The first was a man of about sixty; he was tall, his demeanour was graceful and his face appeared handsome at the first glance, for the expression was imposing, although gentle and even kind. Still, on examining it with greater attention, it was possible to see from the gloomy fire of his glance, which seemed at times to emit magnetic flashes, that this gentleness was merely a mask intended to deceive the vulgar; his projecting cheek bones, his wide retiring forehead, his nose bent like a bird's beak and his square chin denoted a cold cruelty blended with a strong dose of obstinacy and pride.
This man wore a handsome hunting dress covered with lace, and a heavy gold chain, called afanfaronne, was passed several times round his ostrich plumed hat.
This fanfaronne had been brought into fashion by the adventurers who returned from New Spain; and though very ridiculous, it had been enthusiastically adopted by the haughty Castilians.
This gentleman's companion, much younger than he, but dressed quite as richly, had one of those faces whose features at the first glance appear so commonplace and insignificant, that you do not take the trouble of looking at them, and an observer might pass close by without seeing them, but his small grey eyes sparkling with cleverness, half hidden under bushy eyebrows, and the curl of his thin sarcastic lip, would have completely contradicted any physiognomist, who might take this person for a man of common intellect and ordinary capacity.
The elder of the two riders bowed a second time.
"Sir," he said, "I am the Duc de Peñaflor; the person whose life you have saved by running such a risk of losing your own, is my daughter, Doña Clara de Peñaflor."
As the Count came from Languedoc, he spoke Spanish as purely as his mother tongue.
"I am delighted, sir," he replied with a graceful bow, "at having served as the instrument of providence to preserve a child for her father."
"I think," the second rider observed, "that it would be as well to offer Doña Clara some succour; my dear cousin seems to be seriously indisposed."
"It is only emotion," the young man replied; "that caused this fainting fit, which, if I am not mistaken, is beginning to wear off."
"Yes indeed," said the Duke, "I think I saw her make a slight movement, it will be better not to trouble her, but let her regain her senses quietly; in that way, we shall avoid a shock whose results are sometimes very dangerous to delicate and nervous organisations, like that of my dear child."
All this was spoken with a cold, dry, steady voice, very different to what a father ought to have employed, whose daughter had just miraculously escaped death.
The young officer did not know what to think of his real or feigned indifference.
It was only Spanish hauteur. The Duke loved his daughter as much as his proud and ambitious nature allowed him to do, but he would have been ashamed to let it be seen, especially by a stranger.
"Sir," the Duke resumed a moment later, as he stepped aside to display the gentlemen who accompanied him, "I have the honour of presenting to you my cousin and friend, Count Don Stenio de Bejar y Sousa."
The two gentlemen bowed to each other.
The Count had no motive to maintain an incognito, and saw that the moment had arrived to make himself known.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I am Count Ludovic de Barmont Senectaire, Captain in the Navy, and commanding the French frigate theErigone, now anchored in Algeciras Bay."
On hearing the Count's name pronounced, the Duke's face turned frightfully pale; he frowned till his eyebrows joined, and he gave him a strangely meaning glance.
But this emotion did not last longer than a flash: by a violent effort of the will the Spaniard thrust back to the bottom of his heart, the feelings that agitated him; his previous impassiveness returned to his face, and he bowed with a smile.
The ice was broken between the three gentlemen, for they saw they were equals; their manner at once changed, and they became as affable as they had at first been stiff and reserved.
The Duke was the first to renew the conversation in the most friendly voice.
"You are doubtless taking advantage of the truce made a short time back, between our two nations, my lord, to visit our country?"
"Pardon me, my lord Duke, I was not aware that hostilities had ceased between our two armies. I have been at sea for a long time, and without news of France; chance alone brought me to this coast a few hours ago, and I sought shelter in Algeciras Bay, to await a change of wind to pass the Straits."
"I bless the accident, Count, since I owe to it my daughter's safety."
Doña Clara had opened her eyes, and, though still very weak, she was beginning to account for the position in which she found herself.
"Oh," she said, in a soft and humorous voice, and with an inward shudder, "had it not been for that gentleman, I should be dead!" and she attempted to smile, while fixing on the young man her large eyes full of tears, with an expressive gratitude it is impossible to describe.
"How do you feel, my daughter?" the Duke asked. "I am quite well, now, I thank you, papa," she replied; "when I felt that Moreno no longer obeyed the bit, and was running away, I believed myself lost, and terror caused me to faint; but where is my poor Moreno?" she added a moment after, "Has any misfortune happened to him?"
"Reassure yourself, señorita," the Count replied with a smile, and pointing to the horse, "here he is, all right, and quite calmed; if you like you can ride back on him without the slightest apprehension."
"I certainly will mount my good Moreno," she said, "I bear him no ill will for his prank, although it nearly cost me dear."
"My lord," the Duke then said, "I venture to hope that we shall not part thus, and that you will deign to accept the cordial hospitality which I offer you at my castle."
"My time is not my own, unfortunately, my lord Duke, and duty demands my immediate presence on board. Be assured I deeply regret my inability to accept your kind offer."
"Do you then expect to set sail so soon?"
"No, sir; on the contrary, I hope," he replied, laying a certain stress on the words, "to remain here some time longer."
"In that case," the Duke remarked with a smile, "I do not consider myself beaten. I am certain we shall meet again soon, and become more intimate acquaintances."
"That is my most eager desire, sir," the young man said, taking a side glance at Doña Clara, who hung her head with a blush.
The Count then took leave, and proceeded in the direction of Algeciras, while the horsemen slowly retired in exactly the opposite direction.
The Captain walked on very thoughtfully, reflecting on the singular adventure of which he had so suddenly been the hero; recalling the slightest details, and admiring in memory the beauty of the young lady, whose life he had been so fortunate as to save.
Being constantly absorbed by the thousand claims of his rude profession, and nearly always at sea, the Count, though almost twenty-five years of age, had never yet loved; he had not even thought about it; the few women he had hitherto met had produced no effect on his heart, his mind had always remained free in their presence, and no serious engagement had as yet disturbed its tranquillity. Hence it was with a certain terror mingled with astonishment, that while reflecting on the meeting which had suddenly interrupted his quiet walk, he perceived that the beauty of Doña Clara and her gentle voice had left a powerful impression on his mind, that her image was ever present, and that his memory with implacable fidelity ever recalled even its apparently most indifferent details, the short interview he had had with her.
"Come, come," he said, shaking his head several times as if to drive away a troublesome thought; "I am mad."
"Well, Captain," said Michael, who took advantage of this exclamation, to give a free course to the reflections which he burned to express aloud, "I don't care, but you must confess it was very lucky all the same for that young lady, that we were there at the very nick of time."
"Very lucky, indeed, Michael," the Count replied, delighted at this diversion; "had we not been there the unhappy young lady would have been lost."
"That is true, and hopelessly so; poor little thing."
"What a frightful fate! So young, and so lovely."
"I allow that she is well built, although I fancy her lines are a little too fine, and she is a trifle too pale." The Count smiled, but made no reply to the sailor's rather venturesome opinion.
The latter, feeling himself encouraged, went on—
"Will you allow me to give you a bit of advice, Captain?"
"What is it, my lad? Speak without fear."
"As for fear, deuce take me if I feel that, but I should not like to pain you."
"Pain me, about what?"
"Well, all the worse, I must out with it. When you mentioned your name, Captain, to the old Duke—"
"Well, what happened?"
"On hearing it pronounced, he suddenly turned as pale as a corpse; he frowned upon you so terrible a look that I fancied for a moment that he wished to assassinate you; don't you consider that funny, Captain?"
"What you say is impossible; you are mistaken."
"You did not notice it, because you had your head down, but I was looking at him without seeming to do so, and am quite certain about what I say."
"But reflect, Michael, I do not know this nobleman, I never saw him before today; how can he possibly feel hatred for me; you are rambling, my good fellow."
"Not at all, Captain, I am certain of what I state; whether you know him or not is no business of mine, but as for him, I will wager that he knows you, and intimately too; the impression you produced on him was too strong for it to be otherwise."
"I will admit, if you like, that he knows me, but one thing I can certify, that I never offended him."
"That is a point on which a man can never be sure, Captain; look you, I am a Basque, and have known the Spaniards for a long time; they are a strange people—proud as cocks, and rancorous as fiends; believe me, distrust them always; that can do no harm, and especially that old gentleman, who has a crafty face I do not like at all."
"All that has no common sense, Michael, and I am as mad as yourself in listening to you."
"Very well," the sailor said with a toss of the head, "we shall see hereafter whether I am mistaken."
The conversation ended here; still Michael's remarks occupied the Captain more than he would have liked to show, and he returned on board with a very thoughtful air. On the next morning at about ten o'clock an excellent pleasure yacht hailed the frigate.
This vessel contained the Duc de Peñaflor, and his silent cousin, Count de Bejar y Sousa.
"On my faith, my dear Count," the Duke said, good-humouredly, after the first compliments, "you are going to find me very unceremonious, for I have come to carry you off."
"Carry me off?" the young man replied with a smile.
"On my word, yes. Just imagine, Count, my daughter insists on seeing you; she only speaks of you, and as she does pretty well what she pleases with me—a thing that will not surprise you greatly. She sent me to you to tell you that you must absolutely accompany me to the castle."
"So it is," Don Stenio said with a bow, "the Señorita Doña Clara insists on seeing you."
"Still—" the other objected.
"I will listen to nothing," the Duke remarked quickly, "you must make up your mind, my dear Count, you can only obey, for you are aware that ladies cannot be thwarted; so come, reassure yourself, though, I am not going to take you far, for my castle is scarce two leagues from here."
The Count, who in his heart, felt a lively desire to see Doña Clara again, did not allow himself to be pressed one bit more than was correct: then, after giving the necessary orders to his second in command, he accompanied the Duc de Peñaflor, followed by Michael, who seemed to be the Captain's shade.
This was the way in which began a connection which was soon to be changed into love, and have, at a later date, such terrible consequences for the unhappy officer.
The Duke and his eternal cousin who never quitted him, overwhelmed the Count with protestations of friendship, granted him the most perfect liberty at the castle, and appeared not at all to notice the intelligence which was soon established between Doña Clara and the young man.
The latter, completely subjugated by the passion he experienced for the young lady, yielded to his love with the confident and unreflecting abandonment of all hearts that love for the first time.
Doña Clara, a simple girl, brought up with all the rigid strictness of Spanish manners, but an Andalusian from head to foot, had listened with a quiver of delight to the confession of this love which she had shared from the first moment.
Everybody, therefore, was happy at the castle; Michael alone formed an exception, with his stolid face, which was never unwrinkled; the more rapidly he saw matters tending to the conclusion the young people desired, the more gloomy and anxious he became.
In the meanwhile the frigate had left Algeciras for Cadiz.
The Duke, his daughter, and Don Stenio had made the passage on board; the Duc de Peñaflor wanted to go to Seville, where he had large estates, hence he accepted with eager demonstrations of joy the proposal the Count made him, of conveying him on board his frigate to Cadiz, which is only some twenty leagues from Seville.
On the day after the frigate's arrival at Cadiz, the Captain put on his full uniform, went ashore, and proceeded to the Duke's palace.
The Duke, doubtless warned of his visit, received him with a smile on his lips, and with a most affectionate air.
Emboldened by this reception, the Count, overcoming his timidity, requested leave to marry Doña Clara.
The Duke received it favourably; said that he had expected this request, and that it satisfied all his wishes, since it caused the happiness of a daughter he loved.
"Still," he remarked to the Count, "although there was a truce between the two countries, a peace was not yet signed. Though, according to all appearance it would be soon carried out, for all that, he feared lest the news of this marriage might injure the Count's future, by rendering the Cardinal ill disposed toward him."
This reflection had several times offered itself to the young officer's mind; hence he hung his head, not daring to reply, because, unluckily, he had no valid reason to offer, that would remove the Duke's objections.
The latter came to his assistance by saying that there was a very simple way of arranging matters to the general satisfaction, and removing this apparently insurmountable difficulty.
The Count quivering with fear and pleasure, asked what this method was.
The Duke then explained to him that he meant a secret marriage. As long as the war lasted, silence would be maintained, but once peace was concluded and an ambassador sent to Paris, the marriage should be publicly announced to the Cardinal, who then would probably not feel offended by the union.
The young man had been too near seeing his dream of bliss eternally destroyed to raise the slightest objection to this proposition; secret or not, the marriage would not be the less valid and he cared little for the rest. Hence he consented to all the conditions imposed on him by the Duke, who insisted that the marriage might be effected in such a way as to keep him in ignorance of it, so that in the event of his Eminence attempting to turn the King against him, he might employ this pretended ignorance in foiling the ill will of those who might attempt to ruin him.
The Count did not exactly understand what the King of Spain had to do with his marriage; but as the Duke spoke with an air of conviction, and seemed to be greatly alarmed about the King's displeasure, he consented to everything.
Two days later at nightfall, the young couple were married at the Church of la Merced, by a priest, who consented for a heavy sum to lend his ministration to this illegal act.
Michael the Basque and Bowline served as witnesses of the captain, who, on the pressing recommendation of the Duke, was unwilling to let any of his officers into his secrets, while he was sure of the silence of the two sailors.
Immediately after the ceremony, the new bride was taken off on one side by her witnesses, while her husband withdrew greatly annoyed on the other, and went aboard the frigate.
When the Count on the next morning presented himself at the Duke's palace, the latter informed him that, in order to remove any pretext for malevolence, he had thought it advisable to send away his daughter for a while, and she had gone to stay with a relation residing at Grenada.
The Count did not allow his disappointment to be seen; he withdrew, pretending to accept as gospel the somewhat specious reasoning of the Duke.
Still, he was beginning to find the Duke's conduct towards him very extraordinary, and he resolved to clear up the doubts that arose in his mind.
Michael and Bowline were sent into the country to reconnoitre.
The Count learned from them, not without surprise, at the end of two days' researches that Doña Clara was not at Grenada, but merely at Puerto Santa Maria, a charming little town facing Cadiz on the opposite side of the road.
The Captain, so soon as he possessed the information for the success of the plan he meditated, managed by the intervention of Michael, who spoke Spanish like an Andalusian, to send a note to Doña Clara, and at nightfall, followed by his two faithful sailors, he landed at Santa Maria.
The house inhabited by the young lady was rather isolated; he set the two sailors on sentry to watch over her safety, and walked straight up to the house.
Doña Clara herself opened the door for him. The joy of the couple was immense, and the Count retired shortly before sunrise; at about ten o'clock, he went as usual to pay a visit to his father-in-law, in whose presence he continued to feign the most complete ignorance as to Doña Clara's abode, and was most kindly welcomed.
This state of things went on for nearly a month. One day the Count suddenly received information of the resumption of the hostilities between Spain and France; he was himself forced to quit Cadiz, but wished to have a final interview with the Duke, in order to ask him for a frank explanation of his conduct; in the event of this explanation not satisfying him, he was resolved to carry his wife off.
When he arrived at the Duke's palace, a confidential servant informed him that his master, suddenly summoned by the king, had started an hour previously to Madrid, without, to his great regret, having had time to take leave of him.
On hearing this, the Count had a presentiment of evil; he turned pale, but succeeded in overcoming his emotion, and calmly asked the valet whether his master had not left a letter for him; the servant answered in the affirmative and handed him a sealed note.
The Count broke the seal with a trembling hand and ran through the letter, but his emotion was so great on perusing the contents that he tottered, and had not the valet sprang forward to support him, he would have fallen to the ground.
"Ah!" he muttered, "Michael was right," and he crumpled the paper savagely.
But suddenly recovering himself, he overcame his grief and, after giving the valet several louis, hurried away.
"Poor young man!" the valet muttered with a sorrowful shake of the head and re-entered the palace, the gates of which he closed after him.